Out
Now – The River’s Embrace by A. Silenus
Blurb:
With
her blond tresses and blue eyes, London fabric retailer Margery
“Margie” Tull is used to being admired. When she’s hired to
decorate a riverside manor house though, she suspects ulterior
motives.
Lord
of the manor Percival Winstanley reveals a long ago love triangle
leading to death and the bewitching of his son and heir Stephen.
Margie’s cousin Shyan is supposed to protect her. But he’s lured
away by Winstanley’s cougarish housekeeper, Mrs. DePlessey, leaving
Margie in the dubious care of servant Kern.
Unsure
whom to trust, Margie turns first to artist Raphael Watts, also
working at the house. Meanwhile Stephen hovers in the background
trying to draw her attention to a cottage across the river. Somehow
the women who live there are a portent of Margie’s fate. If only
Stephen can convince her of what lies in store Margie can give new
hope to the manor and its heir.
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Excerpt:
Margie crept from the hall to the library and back again. It was the
strangest thing how people either were not there when they were
wanted or were breathing down your neck and scaring you out of your
skin. There seemed no middle way in this house.
She would have to go upstairs. It was the obvious place to look. She
started climbing steps, feeling like an intruder and unsure how she
would explain why she was snooping around the house if she did find
someone. A snigger told her she was on the right track. Tiptoeing
across the landing and down a passage way, she homed in on the
intertwined voices, Shyan’s wisecracks and Mrs. DePlessey’s purrs
of appreciation.
Through the gap between an open bedroom door and the jamb, Margie
watched unobserved. Shyan was standing on a foot stool wearing only
underwear. Evidently measuring requirements had reached the upper
thigh. A crouching Mrs. DePlessey’s glistening nails trailed a tape
over the city boy’s pale flanks. Shyan’s muscles tensed as her
fingers neared the straining material of his briefs.
“Am I tickling?” The question was made to sound guileless, like a
dentist asking “Am I hurting you?”
“Well a bit,” Shyan said. “But it don’t bother me.”
I’ll bet it doesn’t, Margie thought. She was so mad at him. Had
he forgotten why he had come? Not to dally with the housekeeper,
that’s for sure.
The waistband was the next number on Mrs. DePlessey’s list, and as
her arms circumnavigated Shyan’s midriff with the tape measure she
could not refrain from rubbing the bangles on her wrists against his
bare skin. The metal must have been cold, because Shyan jumped
slightly at the touch.
“Oh, I am sorry. Did I do that?”
You calculating bitch, Margie wanted to shriek. She’d seen better
acting on the soaps.
But there was nothing simulated about Shyan’s reaction once the
tape made contact at the base of his spine. Margie didn’t have to
see below his waistband to know his self-control was on the edge. It
wouldn’t take much to unbalance him.
All it did take was another move in Mrs. DePlessey’s repertoire of
suggestive contact. As her breasts prodded his stomach, ostensibly so
she could complete the tape loop, Shyan’s hands descended onto her
shoulders. Then the tape was forgotten as her lips came up to meet
his. Her clasping arms steadied him on the wobbling stool. They moved
to the bed in an uncoordinated tango, and toppled into a grinding
embrace. Shyan tackled the buttons on her blouse. His hand groped for
the bra clip at her back. He suckled on an inflamed turret of a
nipple, with a gusto equal to Ainsworth’s effort during Margie’s
previous spying escapade. Then the couple’s hands met and, steered
by one or the other—or both—glided in unison down the crevasse
between their bodies until they disappeared inside Shyan’s briefs.
Margie was mesmerized. Exasperated as she was by her cousin’s easy
compliance, she couldn’t help being fascinated by this mesh of
desires. That was why it was so startling when Mrs. DePlessey rolled
Shyan to one side and, with a light kiss on the lips, told him, “We
must save this.”
Shyan gaped and attempted to insert a hand between her closed thighs.
“For what?” he asked.
She smiled, not in the provocative way Margie half expected, but
rather as if Shyan hadn’t understood.
“In time,” she said. “In time.”
Author Bio:
A. Silenus spent his early years in southern England
and now lives in Arizona. He writes in various genres under different
names. His erotica-oriented material
includes three self-published sets of short stories, Fiends
That Go Boink, which has
otherworldly themes, Obsessions and
Two Men And A Woman In A Boat.
Other stories have been published in
anthologies, ezines and magazines, including Afternoon
Delight (Cleis), The
MILF Anthology (Blue Moon), Wicked
Pleasures (Ravenous Romance), and
Forum
magazine in the UK.
For more about Silenus and his work, please go
to his blog: Basic Writes: http://asilenus.blogspot.com/
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